The docks at Safe Harbor at Masthead are like rock. They look like a well-kept sidewalk, solid and steady.

My initial apprehension that I wouldn’t have the sea legs to return to the water and sailing after a year of getting around with a walker were starting to fade. Yachts, mostly power boats, their highly polished fiberglass reflecting the evening light were on either side of me. They were well maintained with lines neatly cooled and rubber-backed carpets offering an inviting entry to a transom of carefully arranged deck chairs around a teak table. Some even added a splash of potted floral color that swung from the captain’s bridge above.

“Hey, buddy,” bellowed a well-tanned bare-chested man with a gold chain around his neck. He extended his arms to greet me as he stepped from the stern of his boat. I had no clue who he was, and he surely didn’t know me. That didn’t matter. I held on to my cane should he decide to slap me on the back. There was no slap, no bear hug.

“Goin’ to use that sailing?” he asked. I lifted the cane and swung it.

“They better watch out,” I said. He laughed.

This was my reintroduction to around the buoys racing and I hadn’t even spotted Quig Long [Chinese for blue dragon] that was berthed farther down the dock in deeper water. Quig Long is a 42-foot Sabre owned by Jack Early, who as you might suspect knows more than a thing or two about China. He and his family lived there for two years about 25 years ago.

Jack has sailed West Bay Monday evening races for years. He knows the possible courses and Greenwich Bay like the back of his hand. He knows where he’s likely to get a lift in a light southerly, which was a good thing the evening I crewed, and where the tide would take us.

To a seasoned sailor this might sound like a serious skipper who not only is on the alert to take advantage of the slightest various in conditions but is also demanding of this crew. I was in for a surprise.

Jody King, a regular on the Dragon, invited me to go racing. I’d heard tales about sailing with Jack and reported years ago the story how Jody had jumped into the bay to save the dog of a crew member.  Jody vowed to do the same for me if I went over. Jody toted a cooler, which made me wonder how serious Jack was about racing. Usually, the skipper wants the boat as light as possible unless it’s blowing like stink. This was a calm night with winds whispering no more than 10 knots.  The crew kept showing up in their blue dragon shirts. There was Sam Keagan, Little John or LJ, Kristine Haley who had just completed the PMC Challenge and her husband Jim, Chris and Steve Haders, “Doc” John Martin and Mike Rosenthal. They knew what to do. I stayed out of the way seated on a cushion, holding to stern railing and port lifeline.  My cane went down below.

This was a crew that had been sailing together for some time. They traded news since last sailing together while preparing to cast off. Kristine was congratulated on completing the PMC Challenge and having displayed such a show of strength voted as a winch grinder. She smiled and flexed her muscles. Jody rolled up the main sail cover and dropped it below. The engine purred. A couple of the crew released the dock lines and guided the boat out of the slip before jumping aboard. No sooner had we cleared the marina breakwater than Jack looked back at me and suggested I take the wheel and head for the race committee boat where vessels congregated. It’s not what I had expected but it was a welcome break from physical therapy, walkers and cane – a prescription that only being on the water could bring, as “Doc” Jody realized.

As those who race sailboats know, depending on weather conditions, the size of the fleet and the competitiveness of the sailors the experience can vacillate from an exercise in tactics, anxious moments when winds die and inches seem like miles, sheer terror when one prays everything holds together and doing ten knots feels like driving 90 MPH and boredom when adrift. Regardless of weather, the start of a race demands skill. It can determine the outcome.

Jack handled it masterfully. The crew was attuned to his commands, adjusting lines and the sails to add power or to slow the Dragon. Jack kept an eye on the fleet and the countdown to the start. He realized we might get pushed over the line early, forcing us to restart.  He looked astern. There was room. He spun the boat slowly – all 26,000 pounds of her – in a wide circle to burn time.  The rest of the fleet was below us. Jack brought the Dragon hard to the wind, as slight as it was, and we were the first to cross the line – a position we held until the last leg of the race. An hour later after a beer [it was root beer for me] and some munchies we were second to cross the finish line.

With the precision of a well-oiled machine, the crew went about furling the jib and lowering the main. LJ handed up a bottle of chilled white wine from the cabin that Jack poured into glasses painted with blue dragons. Jody appeared from below with a tray of freshly shucked oysters on a bed of ice. So, this is Monday night racing.

In all those years of racing I’ve always been told it’s not how you start, but how you finish that counts.

Jack and his crew on the Blue Dragon know camaraderie counts.